Destiel One-Shots
by aspecialkindofhuman
Summary: Human!Cas AU where Dean goes to get Cas some stuff and they end up having a short conversation about their feelings. It's a lot of angst/fluff and definitely Dean x Cas. One-shot with stuffed whales.
1. Falling Angels and Cold Showers

I wrote this pretty late at night a while back and forgot to post it but I finally found it and here it is! It's just a short/angsty human!cas x dean one-shot. Hope you like it and tell me what you think!

* * *

"The sky is falling."

"I'm telling you man, it was a meteor shower."

"No! It looked like a person! A person, _on fire!_ You believe me, right, Mom? Mom?"

Dean pushed his way through the crowd of people to the front of the small convenience store. The man behind the cash register was facing away from the milling crowd in his store. His eyes were riveted to the TV behind the counter. On screen, a blonde newswomen was frowning as she gave the same story she'd been giving for the past week and a half.

"Scientists still aren't sure what caused this bizarre supernatural phenomenon, but it all seems to be centered above the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, the so called _Garden of Eden_ river valley, in the Middle East. They calculate that those rivers were the epicenter of some explosion that then sent debris and shrapnel ricocheting through the atmosphere and all over the Earth."

Dean sighed and counted the seconds with his breathe. _Three, two, one._ The woman's hand reached up to tap the small microphone pinned beneath her ear. "We've just received word that the United Nations will meet in New York City to discuss the implications of this bizarre occurrence and to try and put measures in place that will protect the citizens of the world during this troubled time."

"Yeah, right," he muttered, hefting his bag of items onto the counter. It crashed onto the cracked plastic with a heavy thud and the man behind the cash register whirled around with fear on his face.

"Whataya want?" The man's pulse beat rapidly in his throat. "Can't you see I'm busy, man?" he gestured to the TV.

Dean slid a wad of cash across the counter. "Do me a favor, would you?"

The man sighed and took the cash, counting it between his grubby fingers. Then he reached into the bag and began pulling out the items Dean was trying to buy. Two rolls of toilet paper, sunglasses, hamburger meat, hamburger buns, two slices of thick-cut apple pie, and a stuffed animal in the shape of a whale. The whale dangled in the man's hand by the tail and he raised his eyebrows at Dean.

Dean cleared his throat roughly. "It's not for me."

The man rang up his items without comment. He stuffed the cash into the register and turned back to the TV. "Have a nice day," he said absently.

Dean grabbed the plastic bag with a scowl plastered across his face. "Yeah, you too."

Back at the bat cave, Dean tossed the bag onto a long wooden table at the center of the room. Sam sat on one end, fiddling with the keys of his laptop. There was a Cas-shaped mess at the other end, but the angel – _man_ – himself was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Cas?" Dean frowned at Sam.

Sam didn't look up from his keyboard. "In the shower."

Dean blinked and started to pull the items out of the bag. "That's the fifth one today."

"He's alternating between hot and cold." Sam slowly raised his eyes to his brother. "Said he likes the hot ones better."

Dean shook his head and placed the stuffed whale on Cas's chair. "Obviously."

Newspapers and fountain pens lay scattered around Cas's end of the table. The ex-angel had been reading through the recent papers and circling random words with the thick black end of the fountain pen. Dean sighed and held up the paper, reading through a couple of the circled words.

_Save. Whales. Falling. Skies. Dark. Clouds. Thunder. Today. Chance. Rain. Marriage. Wife. Dead. Husband. Missing. Found. Lost. Lost. Lost. Lost. _

_Human. Humanity. Man. _

Dean dropped the paper and scrubbed a hand over his stubbly jaw. "He's not taking this well."

Sam clicked his laptop lid shut with a rough clatter. "How would you handle it, Dean?" Sam's mouth was drawn down in an unhappy, flat line.

Dean's brown furrowed. "Look, Sammy. If this is about –"

Sam pushed away from the table so violently he almost fell out of his chair. "Don't _Sammy_ me, Dean."

Dean skirted the edge of the table and caught up to his brother, stopping him with a hand on his arm. "Look, Sam. I'm just as torn up about this as you are. But that doesn't mean I can forget some of the crap he put us through this past year."

"This isn't about that!" Sam shrugged off his brother's grip. "He needs you, Dean! And you're just so damn determined to ignore it!"

Dean's mouth tipped down at the corners. "You're his friend too, Sammy. Why can't you help him?"

"Yes, I am. But right now I'm still chocked full of angel juice leftover from the trials." Sam threw his hands up in exasperation. "He takes one look at me and his face crumbles. He feels physically _sick_ around me, Dean. So I can't be there for him, right now. And it's killing me because Castiel is my friend too." Sam stopped and closed his eyes. He sucked in a deep breathe through his nose then blew it out through his mouth. "But even if I wasn't shot up with angel mojo, I'm not _you_, Dean."

Dean staggered back half a step. He tried to hide it by turning around and unloading the rest of the bag, but Sam saw the fear eclipsing Dean's usually stoic expression. "So?" Anything more than a one-word answer and Dean was afraid his voice would have shook too much.

"You two have something." Sam stood apart from his brother, clenching his hands into fists. "A _bond_, or something. I'm not condemning it – hell, I'd even support it – but right now you just need to suck it up and accept the fact that you two need each other."

"I don't need that lying son-of-a-bitch!" Dean turned on his brother with fury burning in his eyes. "He used us, Sammy. He used us in every way possible, then left us for dead when the time came."

He turned away and strode to the other side of the room, pumping his fists at his side.

"I don't know what you're _choosing_ to remember, Dean." Sam chased after his brother, raising his voice to be heard over the rapid thud of Dean's pulse. "But I remember a man who left after breaking free of some kind of hypno-mumbo-jumbo in order _not to kill you_. He was so broken, so hurt by that Naomi bitch, but he fought against it – and won – for you, Dean. So he didn't have to kill _you_."

Dean jerked to a stop and Sam nearly crashed into him. Sam backed up and stared at Dean's rigid back, watching his pulse flutter against the side of his throat.

"I didn't . . . ask him to –"

"That's just it, Dean!" His brother's voice rose in excitement. "You didn't have to!"

Dean turned around slowly and locked eyes with his brother. He swallowed harshly. "I –"

"Go talk to him." Sam pointed down the hall. Light and steam drafted out from under the bathroom door, filling the dark hallway with faint signs of life. "Just . . . do something. _Please_."

The bathroom door grew in Dean's vision until it was all he could see. He tried to turn to look at his younger brother, but he couldn't seem to look away from the wooden door, outlined faintly with golden light.

"What about you?" Dean swallowed thickly. Something slid down his throat, dropping into the pit of his stomach with a heavy splash. Fear? No. Acceptance? No. It was . . . it was . . . "Are you okay, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, dropping into his chair with a relieved look. "Yeah, man." He hid a cringe behind his brother's back, pushing through the leftover pain to get to the happiness of bringing his brother and his best friend together at last. "I'm good. Now go. Talk. To. Him." He nudged his brother with his foot, pushing him towards the door.

Dean took two careful steps forward, edging farther and farther away from the safety of his brother's company and into the uncertainty of his future with Castiel. Fear of the uncertainty. Was that what he was feeling? Dean didn't think so. He was a hunter for god's sake. He wasn't scared of anything (except flying). And whatever monster he _was_ scared of, usually didn't stick around long enough for him to be frightened for long. Purgatory, among other things, had cured pretty much all of Dean's fears, so then what was he feeling?

It took him nearly ten minutes to cross the short hallway to the bathroom door. It took him five more minutes to work up the courage to knock.

"Cas?" He rapped his knuckles against the door. "You in there?"

The door opened slowly, letting out a thick billow of hot steam into the hallway. It swirled around Dean's face and his ankles, blocking his sight for a hot moment. When it cleared, Cas was standing in the middle wearing nothing but a loose pair of swim trunks. They hung low on his hips, revealing a nice V that dipped down beneath the fabric. His hair was wet and spiky, dripping as Cas cocked his head to the side, staring oddly at the uncertain expression on Dean's face.

"Hello, Dean."

The water was still running behind Cas, splashing drops out into the open air. They flashed brightly in the bathroom lights, sparkling like small diamonds in the faux-sunlight.

"Can I . . .?" Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Can we talk?"

The new human nodded slowly, stepping back and leaving the door open for Dean. Dean stepped in cautiously, peeking around the small, steamy bathroom. Words written across the fogged mirror spelled out Cas's agony in abstract human concepts – _Pain, Agony, Fear, Loss, What is? How can I? No more. Wings. No more. _

"Aw, Cas," Dean breathed, dropping his face into his hands.

The angel pretended not to hear, stepping back into the shower, but leaving the curtain open. He stood in the spray of water in his swim trunks, letting it run down his chest and through his hair.

Dean flipped down the toilet seat and took a seat, letting his arms hang loosely between his knees. "So."

Cas said nothing. He turned in the hot water so his back was bared to Dean.

The horrid scars, the very real, very solid burned red V's tracing down his back, were still hard for Dean to look at. Traces of gauze itched across the side of the cuts from where Sam and Dean had tried – rather futilely – to patch up Cas's gaping wounds. Compared to the only semi-corporeal black wings the angel had displayed from time to time, the scars were a painful reminder of his past as a an angel of the Lord and his future as a powerless human being.

"How are you, er, holding up?" Dean began awkwardly.

Cas remained quiet. He turned back to face Dean, staring at him with heavy-lidded blue eyes.

Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Not so good, huh?"

"How do you think, Dean?" Cas said slowly.

Each word that came out of his mouth was a challenge. It was hard to speak, hard to think, hard to do anything. All that time, all the angels had looked down on humans. Laughed at how pitiful they were, how they could do hardly anything for themselves. But now, stuck in a human body, Cas understood their pain.

Depression was very real to him. Anxiety was very real to him. Hunger, loneliness, need, nausea, anger; they were all very real to him.

He appreciated Dean and Sam's struggles all the more for what they'd put their minds and their bodies through, but it also made him hate them for it.

They had struggled through so much, done so much for others and so little for themselves. They probably didn't even think they were doing the right thing anymore; it had become so natural for them to be the forces of good that whenever they did good things, whenever they made the right choices, it was hard for them to bear and understand that.

So what did they want from poor Cas? Why were they still hanging around him, helping him out? What had he ever done to them besides betray them and doom them to a life of eternal torment and slaving away for the various forces of heaven and hell? He couldn't keep count of the numerous times he'd betrayed them, or went against their trust. It was against his very nature as an angel – or, ex-angel – to do so, yet he found a way every time.

Why did they want him? Why did Dean want to even speak to him?

He agonized over everything in the exact same way Dean did.

_I'm a piece of shit_, Dean thought, looking at his best friend standing half-naked in the shower. _He probably feels like crap now and I've done nothing for him. He deserves better than us. We owe him everything. Without him Sam and me . . . we'd be nothing. Without him, _I'd_ be nothing. _

They stared at each in silence for a minute more before opening their mouths to speak at the same time.

"Dean, I –"

"Cas, I –"

They stopped. They looked at each other. They blinked in surprise. They even blushed together, too.

A short burst of laughter erupted from the hallway as Sam fell on the floor, holding his gut. The whale stuffed animal bounced off his head, landing on the floor next to his thick mane. He rolled around in the steam billowing out from beneath the door, chuckling at the adorably confused love-struck pair.

"SAMMY, I SWEAR TO GOD!"

"Why was Sam looking in from outside? Why would he do that?"

"'CAUSE HE'S AN ASSHOLE, CAS!"

"You don't have to be so mean about it."

"I'M GETTING A DRINK!"

"Thanks for the stuffed animal, Dean."

". . . Your welcome, Cas."

"I'm glad we talked."

"Yeah." He ran his hand through the ex-angel's dark wet mop. "Me too."

Steam billowed through the halls of the bat cave as Castiel took his sixth shower in a row, rapidly switching the water dial from burning hot to ice-cold.


	2. Sam, Dean Welcome, to Night Vale

I guess this goes into the Destiel category cause it's a oneshot and there's a touch of it at the end. So yeah. This is a wonderful little wtnv and spn crossover. Hope you enjoy it! Sam, Dean, and Cas visit Night Vale to investigate what's really going on in the crazy desert town. Be warned, I didn't edit.

**DISCLAIMER**: Welcome to Night Vale is a production of Commonplace Books and Supernatural belongs to Mr. Kripke. Enjoy!

Sam, Dean. Welcome, to Night Vale

Good evening, listeners. Quite the story I've got for you tonight. It looks like our modest desert town had a few extra visitors today. And no, I don't mean Carlos – although he is still hanging around with his perfect hair and his team of scientists. A pair of brothers rolled through our town earlier, stopping folks and asking about some of the stranger happenings in Night Vale.

They called themselves the Winchesters and, let me tell you, they were an awfully odd sight in our humble desert community. Plaid shirts, heavy jackets, and thick boots. One was very tall with long flowing hair – almost as perfect as Carlos's partially shorn locks – and the other was tough looking with perfect green eyes. Honestly, listeners, I can't even begin to describe their color. A beautiful mix of spring-forest green, ash grey and honey. Such a beautiful green. So dreamy.

Of course, Carlos's eyes are just as perfect. Dark brown, like chocolate. But this Winchester boy . . .

Well, in other news, Old Woman Josie reported an extra angel hanging around her house today. Said he helped fix up her old lightbulb. This angel, she says, was much more impressive than the others angels in our community. Dark hair, blue eyes, and an odd tan trench coat mark his appearances, and he seems to be looking for someone, she says. A man named Dean. Could he be related to the strange brothers moving through our town?

Word just came in that the Sheriff's Secret Police are closing in on the Winchester brothers. Says they've been impersonating cops, FBI agents, just about every law official under the sun. What sneaky behavior! I wonder what these Winchesters are up to. It seems the Sheriff's secret police are going to take them to the abandoned mine shaft on the edge of town for questioning. At least they'll be able to watch some pretty good paid programing, am I right?

Oh. Oh no. That's not good. Not good at all. The new intern, Ezekiel, says they're in front of the radio station. I'm looking out the window now and I – oh wow. That's pretty impressive.

Sorry, listeners. It seems these Winchesters aren't going to go down without a fight. The new angel has teamed up with them and is shielding them with . . . are those wings? Ezekiel's telling me that yes, those large black things are his wings. Oh wow. That's incredibly bright. He's kind of glowing. Is that healthy? I don't know, listeners, but it sure looks pretty. The new angel is lighting up like a Christmas tree. His eyes, his hair, his skin, everything is glowing. It's so strong . . .

Well, folks. It looks like the Sheriff's Secret Police will have to leave the Winchesters alone for a while. That new angel really fried them. Quite literally, I'm afraid.

Let's go to the weather while I – oh whoa, what. What is this?

Hi, buddy, sorry to interrupt, but I've got to borrow your radio station.

Wait, what? You can't just take my radio. I'm in the middle of a show and my listeners are –

Hey there, Night Vale. My name is Dean Winchester and I've got a couple questions for all you dear people.

Dean, give me the microphone.

Easy, Sammy. I can do this.

No, you can't, Dean. You don't even know what you're talking about.

I do too!

Do not.

Do too!

Oh, yeah? Then what's going on here?

. . . I don't know, Sammy, that's what I'm trying to find out.

Dean –!

Anyway, my name is Dean and that idiot in the background is my brother Sam. We've come here about the rather freaky shit going down around here and we'd just like to ask you guys a couple questions. So if you could call in – they can call in right? You! Blondie!

Are you talking to me?

Yes, for God's sake.

Umm, yes. They can call in. The phone's right over there.

Good – if you could just call in with your answer that'd be great. Nice tats by the way.

. . . Thanks.

Hello, Dean.

Dammit, Cas!

My apologies, Dean, I thought you heard me come in.

You're an angle, Cas! You don't make much noise!

Oh, right.

Are you the angel who met Old Woman Josie?

Dean, who's this?

Blondie? That's Cecil. Cecil . . .

Baldwin.

Nice to meet you, I'm Dean.

So I've heard. And you are?

I'm an angel of the Lord.

So you admit that you're an angel.

Why yes. What else would I be?

You're the oddest angel I've ever seen.

What do you mean?

Well, you have a face for one. And only two eyes. It's very odd.

Oh, are you talking about my vessel? This man is Jimmy Novak, a deeply religious man. A sturdy vessel. Worthy.

A vessel? You guys are crazy.

You're calling us, crazy? Man, have you got your priorities mixed up.

You're not from Desert Bluffs, are you?

Excuse me?

Our neighboring town. Disgusting, the lot of them.

Uhh, no. We're not.

Don't answer him, Cas, he's crazy.

I don't know, Dean, he seems like a fairly reasonable man. Aside from the third eye, and tentacles, he's definitely a charming fellow.

What third eye? What tentacles?

Can't you see them, Dean? They're kind of hard to miss.

What are you talking about, Cas? I don't seem anything except a couple freaky tattoos.

Can we focus please! We're losing daylight.

Oh, right. Okay, Sam, I'll you handle the microphone. Just tell the people what they need to hear.

Okay, so if anyone's still listening, we've been getting a lot of reports about some strange hooded figures around her. They like to hang around a dog park, or so I've heard. So if anybody would like to call in about what they've seen that would be –

We're not supposed to know about the dog park.

What now, Cecil?

Or the hooded figures, really, but they're kind of hard to miss.

What is he babbling about?

Listen to him, Dean. He might say something useful.

Oh, come on, Sam! This guy's a nut job.

The hooded figures like to hang around the dog park, but we're not supposed to approach it. Or know about it. Or look at it.

Okay, seriously. What is wrong with these people?

It seems to be part of their culture, Dean. These people might be descended from angels.

Angels? Really, Cas?

No, you're right. Not angels. Some abomination. A twisted form of an angel of lesser servant of heaven. They've got the same characteristics as some of heaven's gatekeepers. Vicious mongrels, those creatures.

Heaven has guard dogs?

Well, of course they do, Sam. They can't just let anybody into the pearly white gates.

I really have no idea what you guys are talking about, but you might want to leave soon.

And why's that, Tentacle-Boy.

The Sheriff's Secret Police are coming with their chopper.

They've got a helicopter?

Everyone's got a helicopter around here.

You know what? Blondie's right. Let's buzz out of here. I'm sick of this place.

Don't forget to call into Cecil about the hooded figures. Here, Cecil, I'll give you my number, and call us back if you hear anything.

Umm, okay. I will, but you probably won't hear from me.

Why?

Because we're not supposed to know about the dog park, or the hooded figures. I thought I told you that.

Yeah, okay. Whatever.

Let's go.

No! Wait, Cas! What about the Impala?

I'll come back for it, we've got more pressing matters to attend to.

But, my baby . . .

Will still be here when I get back.

But . . . last time you zapped me like . . .

I know, Dean. You didn't poop for a week.

Ugh, Cas. Not in front of Sammy.

Really, Dean? You're pathetic.

Shut up. Can we just go?

Alright. Hold on.

. . . .

And there you have it listeners. Quite the drama in our little town today. For those of who are wondering, the Winchesters and their angel just vanished. Literally, they are no longer in the studio, and I have no idea where they went. Mysterious men. With perfect hair and perfect eyes and perfect black wings.

Oh, well. They will be missed.

And it seems they took our new intern with them. I can't find Ezekiel anywhere. That's never good.

To the families of Intern Ezekiel, our most sincere apologies. He will be missed.

I guess it's time for us to finally go to the weather. And while we do that I'm going to go hunt up that Impala Dean talked about. Maybe give him an excuse to come back and visit us.

And now the we – WHAT THE!?

Back. Off. Dean is mine.

. . . .

the weather


End file.
